


Those You've Known

by flibbertygigget



Series: The Other 51 [15]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Depression, Discussions of Underage, Dubious Consent, Internalized Victim Blaming, Multi, Pre-OT3, Sexual Assault, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, discussions of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6669772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's July 11th, 1804, and Burr is still alive.</p><p>Sequel to my fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6565612"> All That's Known</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those You've Known

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay heed to the warnings. There is discussion of underage sexual abuse and incest, discussion of rape, dub-con, internalized victim blaming, suicidal thoughts, and depression. If any of that triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, I would suggest that you not read this fic.

It's July 11th, 1804, and Burr is still alive.

On the first round, Burr had shot wide and Hamilton had aimed at the sky. On the second round, Burr hadn't even raised his gun and Hamilton had aimed at the sky. On the third round, Burr had stared at Hamilton, begging him to just get it over with, and Hamilton had shot him in the thigh. 

Burr's daughter is hovering around him, worried, but he doesn't even dare look at her. He can't let her know that he had tried his damnedest to die. He can't let her know that he still wants to die.

His leg throbs, and he hopes that it becomes infected.

* * *

It's July 12th, 1804, and Burr is still alive.

Eliza visits his bedside, a basket of fruit and bread on her arm. When he doesn't speak to her, she takes his hand.

"I'm sorry," she says. "This is all my fault. I was so selfish, I let you-" Burr shakes his head.

"It was my choice."

"I shouldn't have allowed you to make that choice." Eliza pauses, hesitating, almost afraid. "I told Alexander what you did for him." Burr swallows back anger and tears.

"Why?" he says.

"He needs to know. He needs to understand." Her hand runs through his hair, more gentle than he deserves. "God, if I'd only told him earlier, none of this would have happened."

"He thinks I'm worse than Jefferson." Burr's voice is calm, monotone, but Eliza's hand still tightens around his.

"He doesn't-"

"No. He does. He supported Jefferson instead of me. I know that he didn't know everything, but I still would have thought..." Burr shakes his head.

"Alexander is... unkind at times," Eliza says.

"No, he's simply truthful." The hand is in his hair again, his hair that he grew out for Jefferson, so that Jefferson would be able to-

"You are nothing like Jefferson." Burr realizes that he is crying, that Eliza is wiping away the tears with the corner of the blanket.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she says.

* * *

It is July 15th, 1804, and Burr is still alive.

Eliza is at his bedside again, thumb gently caressing the back of his hand, but all of Burr's attention is on the man who lingers awkwardly in the doorway.

"Hey," Hamilton says, giving Burr a weak smile. Burr doesn't respond, and the smile slips from Hamilton's face. "I'm sorry."

"It was my choice to-"

"No, not about that. Well, that too, but I was talking about the election." Hamilton runs a hand through his own hair, displacing the neat queue. "I honestly thought- I mean, you don't have any political opinions. Jefferson's terrible, but at least I knew in what way he would be terrible. Besides, I was still bitter that you had gone over to his side. Not that I thought you knew about... that, but-"

"Hamilton, please leave." Burr can't hear Hamilton's reasoning, can't bear to hear how he managed to be so horrible that Hamilton would rather see a- see Jefferson become president.

"But-"

"Alexander." Eliza's voice is icy, warning him without pity. Hamilton leaves the room, slamming the door. Burr realizes that he is shaking.

"I'm sorry about Alexander," Eliza says. "I told him to apologize, not to make excuses."

"It's fine." And it is fine, it has to be fine. Burr can't blame Hamilton for any of it, not when he hadn't known the whole story. He can't be bitter that Hamilton made a decision based on perfectly reasonable assumptions.

"No, it's not. I tried to warn him, I told him to reconsider, but he kept..." Eliza gives a frustrated sigh. "I wouldn't blame you for never wanting to see either of use again."

"I want to see him again," Burr says. It's true. No matter what's happened, there's still a part of him that is in love with Hamilton. "I just- not now. It's too..."

"I understand." Eliza kisses his forehead like he is her child. "Is there anything you need?" Burr shakes his head, but then he hesitates.

"Could you bring scissors next time?" he says. If Eliza is confused, she doesn't show it. She nods, and Burr is left alone.

* * *

It's July 18th, 1804, and Burr is still alive.

Eliza brings the scissors. Burr sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle or put any weight on his injured leg. She brings the scissors to his head.

"How short do you-"

"I don't care," Burr says. "Take it off. Take it all off." Eliza nods, then she begins to snip away sections. She's going slowly, too slowly. Burr doesn't care how it looks, he just wants it gone. Every minute, every second with the weight of it is a reminder of how he let Jefferson-

"Shh, it's alright, I'm almost done."

"Shorter."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Eliza reluctantly goes shorter, until his hair is almost nothing, flush against his head with patchy sections of nothing at all. Burr doesn't care. He's just glad that it's gone, that if Jefferson saw him again he wouldn't be able to grip Burr's hair and force his head down to-

Eliza's hands are hesitant. She doesn't know how to help him anymore than he does. Burr buries his face in her shoulder, no doubt ruining her dress. Just one more thing that he owes her. She rubs soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

"You didn't have to cut your hair if you weren't ready." It's a guess, a pathetically wrong shot in the dark, but she's trying.

"It's better like this," Burr mutters. "I couldn't keep- not when I did it because..."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want Jefferson to have any reason to prefer Hamilton to me." Her arms around him squeeze tighter for a moment.

"I'm so sorry," she says. "I should never have let you-"

"I would do it again." And it's true. Burr would do it again, because he knows that he could take it, that he's already too sullied to be worth anything, because at least saving Hamilton made his life worth something.

"I wouldn't let you."

* * *

It's July 22nd, 1804, and Burr is still alive.

Jefferson slides into his room, closing the door, and Burr tries not to panic. It's fine, it has to be fine. Jefferson wouldn't dare to try- not with Theodosia just outside the door. Bur when Jefferson's cold eyes slide over him Burr knows that it's false hope.

"You cut your hair."

"Yes." Jefferson reaches out, fingernails digging into Burr's scalp. Burr is frozen.

"Did you think I couldn't see what you were doing, how you tried to protect that bastard?" Burr had hoped. He had even thought himself successful. But apparently he is a failure in this as well.

"Don't hurt him."

"I never hurt him." Jefferson's smile is like ice. "You just can't admit it to yourself. Do you even know the kind of whore Hamilton is? Half his friends and almost as many of his enemies have slept with him. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Burr wants to tell Jefferson that there's a difference between choosing to sleep with someone and being coerced into  it, that a reluctant "yes" isn't a yes at all, but he doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what he says, Jefferson won't listen.

"Why are you here?"

"To see if you wanted to continue. Hamilton fucked you over in the election. He chose me over you. But if you want to continue to protect him..."

"Yes." There is no hesitation in Burr's voice, not now. No matter what Jefferson does, he can take it. He has to be able to take it.

Later, as he hurl into a chamber pot, Burr wonders whether he actually can do what's necessary.

* * *

It's July 23rd, 1804, and Burr is terrified.

"What the  _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Hamilton shouts, smashing the door into the wall as he enters.

"Hamilton..." Burr can't breath. He can barely think. Hamilton looks furious, and it's all concentrated at him. "What did I do wrong?"

"Jefferson told me that you-" Hamilton cuts himself off, suddenly nervous. "You didn't, did you?"

"He threatened you." Hamilton hand is on Burr's shoulder. Burr flinches, and Hamilton pulls away.

"Burr, if you took a bullet for me every time someone threatened me, you would be dead by now."

"This isn't about 'taking a bullet,' it's about-"

"What? It's about what?" Hamilton is shaking, furious. "No, this isn't about me, it's about you and your  _stupid_ need to always be a martyr. If you don't have money to help someone out, you pawn your watch or your furniture. If you could find a way, you'd take all the world's pain and hang yourself on a cross for it. Well, I'm not letting you do that with me, not again."

"It's not a sacrifice for me to-"

"You're hurt!" Hamilton's hand is on Burr's cheek now, wiping away tears that Burr hadn't known were there. "You may not want to admit it, but you're hurting. Why else would you invite me to shoot you? You're just lucky that I threw away my shot, that I didn't-" Hamilton chokes. He's crying now, too.

"I didn't want Jefferson to hurt you. I knew that he'd continue. It was my choice to make the trade."

"You didn't have to," Hamilton says. "You could have just let me be. It's what I would have done if it was you."

"I didn't want you to be broken, not like me," Burr says. "When children want to play with dishes, you give them the ones that are already cracked." In an instant, Burr knows that he's made a mistake.

"What do you mean?" Hamilton says, voice dangerously low. Burr knows that voice, and he knows that now Hamilton won't stop until he's sucked every secret that Burr hold close to his chest.

"It's none of your concern."

"Yes, it is."

"It was a long time ago."

"I don't care. I want to know." Hamilton sighs, running a hand over Burr's close-cut hair. "I want to know you. After everything you've done for me, I want to understand." Burr can't shake him. He knew this, he knew that so much as a hint at his past would cause it to all come out in an ugly tangle of hurt and blame. He knows that he will wake up tonight, screaming for Paterson to stop. If Hamilton wants that, wants all the baggage and pain that Burr carries, he can have it. Burr doesn't care anymore.

* * *

It is July 23rd, 1804, and Hamilton is shaking.

Burr speaks with a calm voice and dead eyes about being hurt, about things that Hamilton doesn't want to imagine. Bur he listens. As much as Hamilton hates it, he needs to understand. Burr needs someone who can help him.

Hamilton doesn't know whether he can be that person. The more Burr talks, the closer he is to losing his temper, to going, finding everyone who ever hurt Burr, and challenging them to duels. If he did, he wouldn't aim at the sky. No, the bullets would fly into their chest or stomachs, giving them certain, long, painful deaths. They deserved it.

But, no, that wouldn't help. It would change nothing of the past, and it might actually land Hamilton in jail. No, the only thing to do was help Burr heal as well as he could, trying to untangle years of damage with a few well-placed words. But...

"Don't feel sorry for me."

"It was my own choice."

"You don't have to pretend to care."

Bullshit.

Burr has fallen asleep. Hamilton is grateful that Burr at least seems fine with being held, cradled in his arms like a child. Hamilton doesn't think he could let go if he wanted to.

It makes it sick to think of the things Burr had said, the things he had done when he was only a child and too young to realize what was being broken. It makes him sick to think of Burr being touched by Jefferson, forced to do things because Hamilton wasn't strong enough to take it, to hide what he'd done of his own free will.

Burr shifts in Hamilton's arms, forehead creasing. Hamilton freezes. He doesn't know what to do as frightened noises turn into a string of begging.

"No, no, no, please, I don't want- no-" Hamilton tries to shake him awake.

"Burr, it's okay. Burr?" Burr wakes up with a start, panting, eyes glassy and unseeing. They stare at each other for a moment, and then Burr buries his head in Hamilton's stomach. Hamilton stays still, unsure of how to react, unsure of what Burr needs now.

"I'm sorry," Burr whimpers.

"It's okay. You're safe here."

"I thought I had it under control." Hamilton doesn't answer, gently rubbing Burr's chest. "I haven't had a nightmare about these things in years. Why is it all coming back now?"

"Perhaps talking about it brought back the memories." Burr nods.

"I just want it to be over. I just want it all to end."

"You can't-" Kill yourself. Use another to do so. "You can't give up. I promise you that no one will hurt you like that again."

"I told Jefferson that I'd-"

"Fuck Jefferson!" That gets Burr's attention. He stares at Hamilton, eyes wide and wary. "Jefferson is gone, you don't need to worry about him anymore. If he so much as tries to get in the house, I'll punch him in the face. I'll shoot him."

"Why?" Burr is utterly lost. It makes Hamilton want to do something, write something, shoot something.

"Because you are my friend, and I will not allow you to be hurt anymore."

* * *

It is July 25th, 1804, and Burr is still alive.

Eliza enters, carrying a letter. She hesitates, but then she gives it to him. The moment that Burr sees the handwriting, he begins to shake.

"It was delivered by a servant," Eliza says. "He wasn't here."

"Did Hamilton try to confront him?"

"No," Eliza said. "Well, he didn't start it at least. Jefferson tried to visit you again, and Alexander..."

"Sweet Jesus," Burr mutters, pressing a hand against his eyes. He doesn't have the strength to deal with this. He can't fight both of them. Eliza hesitantly clasps his hand, and Burr takes it gratefully.

"You don't have to read it," Eliza says. "But you deserve to know what Jefferson's doing. Alexander didn't agree, but I thought that you'd not want to be surprised when you recover."

"When?" Burr says bitterly. Eliza passes a hand over his head, but its no longer comforting. Of course she and Hamilton are working off the assumption that he will heal. Of course they think that its not far too late for that. "There is no 'when.' You're acting like my- my heart can heal as easily as my leg, but-" Eliza holds him close, and Burr chokes off a sob. He can't remember having ever cried as much as he has over the last few days. Every wall, every defense has been smashed.

"It's okay." It isn't okay. It never has been, and it never will be. Burr has been damned to this ever since his parents had died and left him with his uncle. He'd never had a chance, and now- "I'm here, it's okay."

"I can't- It's not-"

"I know. You can't now, but you will be able to. I know you, Aaron, and I know that you will never give up or give in, not when there are those that love you."

"Everyone who loves me has died."

"No, I'm here. I'm here, Theodosia's here, Alexander's here, and none of us are going anywhere." At that moment Burr makes the same mistake that he made twice before.

Aaron Burr falls in love.

* * *

A month has passed, and Burr is still alive.

Hamilton or Eliza is always at his bedside, often accompanied by his daughter. He's tried, he truly has, to get up and walk, but most days the distance across the room seems impossibly far and Burr... Burr can't do it. It's so much easier to simply lie there, allowing the others to come and go like everyone else he's ever known.

And then, everything changes.

"Burr, you need to go to Washington," Hamilton says one morning without preamble.

"What?" Burr says groggily.

"Jefferson's trying to impeach Justice Samuel Chase. Which is ridiculous. I mean, he's completely tipping the balance of power in favor of the executive, which is the very thing that he was so vocal against with both Washington and Adams. But you have to go. The House has already impeached him, and you're head of the Senate, so you have to preside over the trial for the removal-"

"Slow down." Burr's mind is thick as molasses. "I'm still Vice President?"

"Of course!" Burr sighs.

"So Jefferson has impeached Chase for nothing, despite the fact that his Vice President has been publicly involved in a very illegal duel? I would have thought that he would have wanted to get rid of me before anyone else."

"I think he's still holding out hope for-" Hamilton shakes his head. "Never mind. The point is that your leg is healed, and you are being summoned to D.C. So come on. I have a carriage waiting."

"I don't think I can-"

"Stand? I'll help you. Now  _come on_."

"See Jefferson without-" Burr gestures around the room, at the empty plates and vomit-filled chamberpot. "I didn't react well before- before. Now... I don't know what I will do." Hamilton places a hand on his shoulder. It isn't the same burning as before. Burr's want has been dulled by hurt and trauma, but it's still there, a steady thrum like a heartbeat at the place where they touch. 

"You won't be alone," he says. "I'm going with you."

"But Eliza needs you to-"

"Eliza's the one who suggested that I go." Burr stares at him. "Don't worry. I wouldn't go if she needed me here."

"Are you certain that you wish to take care of me?"

"Burr, if anything, you're taking care of me." It is a lie, but Burr is willing to swallow it. He nods, and for the first time in a month he gets up and walks.

* * *

A month has passed, and Hamilton is afraid.

He's not afraid of Jefferson. Oh, no, he knows exactly what he will do if he sees Jefferson give any indication of hurting Burr again. No, Hamilton is afraid that he's taken on too much, that he won't be able to be what Burr needs him to be.

Hamilton glances over at Burr. He is resolutely quiet, staring out the window at the passing countryside. Every time the bumpy road jostles his leg his entire body tenses. Hamilton wants to make the road smooth as glass, to create a carriage that floats above the ground on a cushion of air, but he is helpless. He can't do anything but bear witness to the pain that Burr goes through every second.

It's been a long time since Hamilton and Burr have been alone together. Even over the last month, as Burr has rested and recovered, Theodosia or Eliza have always been nearby. But now Burr is so close, and if Hamilton just reached out he could touch him and...

No. He couldn't do that, not now, not when Burr was hurt because of him. Hamilton would have to learn to be patient, to figure out what Burr needed and provide that. Never had Hamilton regretted letting their relationship wane and grow bitter as much as now. He wishes... he knows that wishing won't do anything, but he wishes that he could change the past, go back and beg Burr to not leave him. But it is too late for that. Aaron he can do now is try to fix things.

Burr turns to look at him, and Hamilton almost jumps. "We need to talk."

"You don't have to-"

"No, you don't understand. We need to talk if you're going to keep doing... this."

"Alright." Hamilton is nervous. He can barely remember feeling nervous before. He hadn't felt it before the duel, hadn't even felt it before the damn meeting with Jefferson and Madison that had started this whole mess. No, both times he had been numbed by a cold certainty. He had known then what was required of him, what he had to do. But now... now he can barely wrap his head around the idea of Burr, of all he's done and had done to him, of all he's sacrificed. For the first time in his life, Hamilton feels inadequate.

"I don't blame you for anything that happened with Jefferson. That was my choice, and, besides, you couldn't have known. But I need to understand..." Burr looks down at his hands. They are fidgeting, playing with the edge of the quilt, but Hamilton can still see plainly the way that they shake. "I need to understand why you would prefer Jefferson to me. You might not have known everything, but you knew what he is! What had I ever done to make me worse than him?" By the end Burr is almost shouting, staring at Hamilton desperately, pleading. Hamilton doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to tell Burr what had been going through his head at the time without sounding like a fool.

"Burr, I've always been public with my opinions," Hamilton says. "If you want an explanation, look there. I thought you were dangerous. Jefferson has always stated plainly his beliefs, and you- you seemed to only stand for yourself." Burr's expression has become closed off, unfathomable. "I don't think that now! You've given more than your share. But back then it seemed so obvious to me." Burr is silent for a long, dangerous moment.

"Just because I don't publish my opinions in the papers," Burr says softly, "or trumpet them out for all to hear, doesn't mean that I don't have them."

"You hadn't shown me that-"

"Then perhaps you should have paid better attention." Burr's voice is acid. "1785. Did you even pay attention to my proposals to the New York Assembly, or were you too busy with you legal career? I proposed a bill that would ban slavery and another that would have allowed women to vote in local, state, and national elections. Neither got through, but slavery was banned 14 years later. One day, who knows, perhaps all people will be able to vote, irregardless of their gender or race or the amount of land they own. While you were busy dispossessing Loyalists, I was attempting to lay the framework for a vindication of the rights of all people." Burr pauses, catching his breath. "Are my answers to you satisfaction?'

Hamilton cannot answer. He can barely breath. Burr is glorious, indignant, standing firm in the face of Hamilton's stupidity. All that Hamilton can do is hope that a little of this firmness will remain when Burr has to confront Jefferson.

* * *

Burr hates D.C.

He's always hated it, even when he had to live there for a time as senator. He hates the cramped quarters, the winding, Paris-like streets, the way that everyone knows everyone and everything about them. He hates not having any sense of privacy, of anonymity.

It's even worse now.

He hears the people whispering as he walks down the street, Hamilton close by his side, ready to catch him should he fall. there are a thousand incorrect rumors about what had happened during the duel, and more than a few of them get uncomfortably close to the truth. Hamilton glares at everyone who passes, whispering, gossiping. Burr just tries to seem unaffected.

They finally arrive at Presidential Mansion. In truth, it cannot be called that. Though decked in the finest furnishings, it is small and cramped. When they reach the door, BUrr hesitates, but he is able to knock. The door is opened by a slave.

"You don't have to meet him," Hamilton mutters as they enter, the door banging shut with an ominous echo.

"I'm fine." It's a lie. Burr is nearly shaking, terrified, but he has to get through this meeting.

"If he tries anything, I'll-"

"Don't." Burr takes a deep breath as they come to their destination. "Just follow my lead, alright? Allow me to handle this." Hamilton doesn't get a chance to argue.

Jefferson is lounged at his desk, feet up, dressed in a ratty old bathrobe. Madison is there as well, and he cowers slightly under Hamilton's glare. Jefferson smiles, his gaze heavy as he looks Burr up and down.

"Mr. Burr," he says, "I'm glad to see you looking so well."

"I'd prefer to get right to business," Burr says. "What the hell do you hope to gain, Jefferson?" Jefferson's smile vanishes.

"I simply hoped to reach some kind of agreement with you. You understand how important it is to me that Samuel Chase is punished to the fullest extent of the Constitution."

"You don't have a leg to stand on and you know it!" Hamilton snaps. Madison half stands up as though he expects Hamilton and Jefferson to come to blows and wishes to prevent it, but Burr renders that unnecessary with a look at Hamilton.

"Alexander, please," he says. Hamilton reluctantly flops back in his chair, and Madison sits gratefully. Burr turns to Jefferson. "I will preside over his trial to the best of my ability. That is all that I can promise." Jefferson's gaze is deadly.

"I will remind you, Burr, that your place here is dependant upon your staying in my good graces. Should you attempt to cross me and obstruct justice, I can assure you that you will not be my running mate in this next election."

"As I said, I will in no way attempt to obstruct justice," Burr says. "I will ensure that any high crimes or misdemeanors that Chase may have committed are punished. I will not, however, have a man flung from his position on what I believe to be trumped-up charges." Hamilton is looking at him again, but Burr ignores him. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Perfectly." Burr doesn't think about the way that Jefferson sound like he would be perfectly happy to tear Burr limb from limb, how his gaze follows Burr as he gets up and leaves the room. "Hamilton?" Jefferson says suddenly. Burr freezes, and Hamilton grips his arm.

"Yes?" says Hamilton.

"Would you come... confer with us for a moment?" Hamilton gives Burr a forced smile.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll be out in a moment." Burr nods, and Hamilton disappears behind the door.

* * *

Hamilton hates D.C.

More specifically, he hates the politics. Hamilton is a man of action, not of these snakes who sneak and trade and deal in positions and flesh. It seems as though even being in the same city as Jefferson makes everything polluted. To be in the same room is almost unbearable.

"What's this about?" Jefferson stands. It really isn't fair, Hamilton thinks, that Jefferson is so damn tall, able to tower over him even though Hamilton isn't really that short.

"Hamilton," Jefferson says, lips curling around his name like it is a lemon he has to eat whole, "I never expected to see you here again." Hamilton bristles.

"Get to the point," he says. "What do you want from me?"

"Aaron Burr was willing to give himself to me for your sake," Jefferson says. "I would have thought that you would jump at the chance to return the favor, to no longer owe him your mind."

"You won't touch him."

"Who's going to stop me? You?" Jefferson chuckles. "He'll come back in an instant, eager to please, if he gets so much as a hint of this conversation. You can't save someone who wants to be destroyed."

"Then what would you have me do?" Hamilton is painfully aware of what he's doing, what he's offering. The very idea makes him sick, but the idea of standing by and doing nothing is worse. Burr hadn't give him a chance to protest when he had offered himself to Jefferson. All Hamilton can do to make it right is to do the same in return.

That is why Hamilton allows Jefferson to curl his hand in his hair, yanking his head back. The kiss that Jefferson gives is surprisingly gentle, but the way that Jefferson smiles makes it clear that Hamilton won't be treated gently for long.

All Hamilton can do is grin, bear it, and hope that Burr will never know.

* * *

Burr's nightmares seem to stretch on forever.

Paterson is there, bearing down on him, crushing him, and then Jefferson yanks his hair and bruises his lips, and his uncle's hands skirt lower... lower-

"Burr!" Burr wakes with a start, throwing away the tangled bedsheets that strangle him and struggling to calm his lungs and heart. "Burr, are you alright?"

"H- Hamilton..?" Hamilton appears like an angel with a glass of water. Burr takes it gratefully, hands shaking so badly that half the water slops onto the mattress. Hamilton's hand lands hesitantly on his shoulder, and Burr leans into it. It is solid. It is real. If Hamilton is here, no one else can hurt him.

"Hey, hey, yeah, you're alright," Hamilton murmurs. Burr lets his head drop, burying himself in Hamilton's chest.

 "I can't- I don't-"

"Shh, I know." Hamilton's hand is tracing comforting circles on Burr's back.

"I didn't want this."

"I know." Burr wants to cry, to punch something, but all he can do is lie there, useless. "I shouldn't have let Jefferson see you."

"I had to." Burr shifts, and now Hamilton is holding him, Burr lying half on the mattress and half on Hamilton's lap. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be- to be like this." Burr doesn't want to explain what he does want. The idea is too foreign, too impossible. He can't tease himself by putting it into words.

"It's okay," Hamilton says. "You can be like this for as long as you need to be. None of them will touch you again, not if I can help it."

"I don't want anyone else hurt. I just want it to all go away."

"It won't." Burr nods. "But I'm here, and I'm not going to abandon you." It is at that moment that Burr makes his mistake.

Kissing Hamilton is wrong and right at the same time. Wrong, because Burr can't completely push aside the rancid breath and grasping hands of his nightmares even now. Risght, because this is Hamilton, and Burr has never wanted someone so much. At this moment, Burr's only wish is for this to never end.

"Wait." Burr pulls away, confused. "Burr, you're not able to-"

"No," Burr says. "Please, Hamilton. I just want someone who-" Who'd let him be the one in control for once. Who'd let him be the one to take and take and-

"I'm not going to let you hurt yourself."

"Are you- I want this. Do you want to be in control? Fine. Sodomize me, take my mouth and ass, I don't care. I want you."

"No, you don't."

"How can you know how I feel?" Hamilton puts a hand in Burr's hair, and Burr flinches.

"Maybe you do want this," Hamilton says. "I certainly can't tell if you do. But I can't risk hurting you like that, not now."

"And later? Someday?" Hamilton hesitates, his arms squeezing tighter.

"Maybe."

* * *

 

Burr is better than he though he would be at presiding over the trial. It is familiar, a well-rehearsed drama that Burr need only follow the script of. There is no danger as he sits in his place, casting judgement over the men who come to bear witness. It will take a few more days, but Burr is confident that he will be able to get Samuel Chase off.

At this point, Burr doesn't care if Chase is guilty or not. His only goal is to destroy Jefferson's plan.

When he returns after the first day, exhausted but feeling strangely hopeful, Burr finds Hamilton lying, fully clothed, on the bed. As Burr approaches, the broken, tired edges of Hamilton's frame mend back together, but he has already seen too much. He knows that something terrible has happened.

"Hamilton?" Burr says. "Hamilton, what's happened?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." The answer is too quick and nervous to be anything but a lie.

"Something's wrong." Burr sits on the edge of the bed, as far from Hamilton as possible.

"Nothing is wrong."

"You're lying." Burr shifts a little closer, and Hamilton curls in more on himself. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I know that." Hamilton makes a small, frustrated noise in his throat. "God damn it, I know that! You couldn't hurt anyone like this, not when you-"

"Like what?" Burr's fingernails dig into his knee in an effort not to reach out to comfort Hamilton.

"Like- Like..." Hamilton's fingers tug at his own hair as though he wishes to pull it all out. "I'm sorry, I tried, I wanted to- But I can't do it. I can't be as good as you are. Jefferson-"

"Jefferson?" Burr suddenly, sickeningly  _knows._ "Hamilton, why would you ever do anything so foolhardy?"

"You did it for me; it felt only fair to repay the favor." Burr wants to punch Hamilton for being such an idiot, for getting them back into this tangled mess, but he just opens his arms. Hamilton hesitates, but it isn't long before he is curled in Burr's lap.

"It's one thing for me to give myself up," Burr says. "There isn't much that Jefferson can add to my nightmares. But you-"

"That's exactly why I wanted to do this," Hamilton says. "You've had so many bad things happen to you already. I can't stand to the side and let him hurt you further." Hamilton gives a choked laugh that sounds more like a sob. "I suppose that shows you what kind of man I am. I can't stand to give up an ounce of control, not even for a friend. And you, you've been through so much it's unimaginable, and yet you somehow managed to let him-"

"No," Burr says, and Hamilton falls silent. "It's not- It's not like that. I'm not some sort of saint just because I managed to have sex with Jefferson."

"Even so," Hamilton says, "you're- you have more reason for this than I do. You've been mistreated by so many people throughout your life, yet here you are, comforting someone who has only- and one of those times was for political reasons! I don't deserve sympathy from you of all people." Burr strokes Hamilton's hair, trying to think of a way to say that, no, Hamilton has just as much of a right to be hurt, to cry, as he does, that it isn't a contest to see who has a more fucked up life.

"After the incident when I was seven," Burr says at last, "I could barely sleep for months. I was afraid of my bed. My uncle hadn't even reached my more... intimate regions, yet I nearly killed myself trying to stay awake, to stave away the circumstances that had surrounded it." He pauses, trying to get ahold of his fraying emotions. "If I am allowed that, surely you are allowed to seek comfort for this."

"That's different. You were a child, it was worse for you."

"I don't believe that these things can be thought of in terms of better or worse," Burr says. "The only thing that can be done is to try to pick up the pieces. If you compare your life to that of others, you'll go mad." Hamilton doesn't respond, and Burr sighs. "You should speak to Eliza when we return to New York. She's helped me, perhaps she will help you as well."

* * *

The carriage ride back to New York is long, too long. Burr may have won the case, but the looks that he keeps throwing Hamilton make it clear that he is still worried about what had come to light that night. Hamilton is the one staring out the window this time, desperate not to talk about it.

The moment that they walk through the door, Eliza narrows her eyes. Hamilton shrinks back, mentally begging her not to question them. Burr just shakes his head. Eliza purses her lips, disapproving, but she doesn't ask about the undeniable sense of something being wrong that hangs around them like a haze.

"Come on," she says, "I've kept supper warm for you."

"Thank you," Burr says. Hamilton is silent.

The supper tastes good after so many days of unfamiliar inn food, but the atmosphere is tense. Eliza tries to catch their eyes, searching for some hint at what happened, but Burr stays resolutely silent and Hamilton would rather not think about it at all (as though he can think of anything else, as though the memory doesn't consume his mind every moment he sits there). It isn't until they have finished that Burr looks Eliza in the eye and nods.

"What happened?" she says.

"Burr got Chase off," Hamilton blurts out. "I mean, he wasn't the defense or anything, but he always wanted to-"

"The charges were trumped up and the trial was blatantly political," Burr says. "It isn't as though I can allow Jefferson to use the Judicial Branch as her personal toy court."

"That isn't what I was asking about and you know it," Eliza says. Hamilton stays silent. "Alexander?" He slides down in his chair, trying to disappear.

"Hamilton," Burr hesitates, "I can't force you to tell her, and I won't say anything about it without your permission, but please keep in mind what I told you." Burr is so much more self-assured now, when he has someone to neg or protect, Hamilton thinks. Maybe it is better this way.

"I can't tell- Burr-" Hamilton shakes his head quickly. "I can't." Burr puts an arm around Hamilton slowly, and Hamilton leans into the embrace, pressing his forehead into Burr's shoulder. "You do it."

"You'll have to tell her in your own words eventually," Burr says, and then he turns to Eliza. "We met Jefferson, and Hamilton took it upon himself to protect me." Eliza's sharp intake of breath makes it clear that she has understood. "Believe me, I didn't know of it at first, and once I found out I made it clear at once that I wouldn't have him hurting himself on my account, and-" Burr's arm around him grows tighter.

"But Jefferson has already done his damage," Eliza whispers. Burr nods. Hamilton looks up, and he can tell that Burr is waiting for Eliza to yell, to blame him for Hamilton's condition. Burr seems to almost welcome the blame.

"It wasn't Burr's fault," he says slowly, voice hoarse from staying silent so long. "I didn't tell him beforehand. When he found me, he made sure that Jefferson wouldn't-"

"Of course he did," Eliza says, and Hamilton is happy to hear no hint of blame in her voice. Burr just looks baffled. "Come here."

"What do you mean?" Burr says.

"You both need rest, and you shouldn't be alone tonight," Eliza says. "Our bed is large enough for three." Burr seems to want to protest, but Eliza is already leading them upstairs to their room and arranging them so that Hamilton is tucked between her and Burr.

It is, in Hamilton's opinion, just about perfect.

* * *

 

Nine months have passed, and Burr is still alive.

It is strange to wake up in the morning and to not actively wish to not have awakened. Even before the duel, before Jefferson, before things fell apart, Burr had not been used to having such a drive to live, to survive. At best, he had kept going because there were those who needed him, his wife or his daughter or his friends. He had never wanted to live for his own sake, not for as long as he can remember, but now... now he wants to live. He isn't happy, not really, but he is better alive than dead.

It seems like half his nights are spent with Hamilton and Eliza, comforting him or being comforted by them. Theodosia and Eliza work together to help the both of them, as though they are afraid that they will slip back into the quagmire if they are left alone for a moment. Still it's... it's good. Burr's life is good. For once the pieces seem to be clicking together, moving in harmony.

When Burr decides to go back into politics, to run against Jefferson in spite of the president's popularity, Hamilton is hesitant. Not because he doesn't trust Burr, he assures him, but because another four years as Jefferson't vice president could be...

Burr has to admit that he is nervous as well. He doesn't know how dirty Jefferson is willing to play, what the president will be willing to dredge up. Moreover, he knows that he will be unable to beat Jefferson. It just isn't possible. The best he can hope for is to split the Democratic-Republican vote, leaving the door wide oven for a third candidate to take Jefferson's place. He doesn't much care who that candidate is, just that they won't be like Jefferson.

Of course that is when Hamilton decides to announce his presidential bid.

Burr isn't happy about it, he can't be. Politics are what started this whole mess; politics are what drove him and Hamilton to be at odds. Politics ruined them both once, and he is loath to try to continue whatever it is they have when they- or at least Hamilton- play the game of blame and campaign.

Hamilton says that everything can stay the way it is. He says that he won't slander Burr, that he won't get out of control again. He says that he knows better now. Burr doesn't know whether to believe him.

Jefferson continues his act of a clean campaign while ordering his papers to print thousands of words against Hamilton and Burr alike, some truthful, some not. Hamilton slams back with his own papers, hundreds of essays against every move that Jefferson has made a president. Burr stays silent, concentrating on his power base in New England. He only needs to wrest a few northern states from Jefferson's control, giving them to him or Hamilton, for Jefferson's entire base to crumble beneath him. the South simply doesn't have enough electoral votes to give him the presidency.

When the time comes, when Burr has solidified his base in the North and a few key Middle States, he drops out of the race. It's a gamble, a large one, to throw his support behind Hamilton, but he knows before the results come in that it has paid off.

Jefferson can whine all he wants about how Hamilton isn't even American, about the Reynold's Pamphlet, about how Burr is not to be trusted, but it makes no difference. The people have spoken. Burr's political career may be over, but he has won.

Burr is as surprised as anyone when Hamilton chooses him as his vice presidential running mate. When he asks, Hamilton just says that there is no one who he trusts more to take over if he dies. Burr wonders how different things would have been if that had been Hamilton's opinion four years before.

* * *

 

A year has passed, and Burr is happy. 


End file.
